It’s funny how memories work, like pictures in our minds eye. The whole story long forgotten, just the snapshots of moments left behind. The life I have lived is full of moments I wish I could remember; people and places I wish I had never forgotten. But that’s not how memories work.

One of my very first memories, is also one of my clearest. I was young, no more than 6 years old and the youngest of three girls. We were, as I would learn later in life, latch key kids. Our mom worked all day and well into the night, and we did not see our father often. Growing up, we did not have a lot, and new toys were few and far between.

I can still remember the fenced in area of our apartment complex where we would play unsupervised. It had once been a pool, with plenty of space for lounging and sunbathing. But the pool had long been boarded up, and a basketball hoop was put at either end. The court was nowhere near regulation size, but it gave us enough room to run around for a bit. The wood was old, a dull gray from years of sun bleach and rain, and in some places, rotting away completely. I would toss pinecones into these holes and hear the splash as it hit the water still collecting in the abandoned pool beneath. Rumor was someone had once put their pet piranhas in the abandoned pool through the gaps in the wood slats. But none of us were ever brave enough to stick our hand in the gaps to check.

It was on one particularly nice spring day, the sun shining high above, slightly covered by a sea of white flowing clouds. You could see the blooms of the dandelions that grew along the bottom of the fence, and in the air the smell of freshly mowed grass. My sisters and I were all in the play area when my Uncle James came by. He had brought along the most beautiful purple bike. It was a deep royal purple with white rimed wheels and sliver bell on the handlebars.

“Hey guys, I got you something!” Uncle James shouted, “Who wants to take it for a test ride?” He asked.

“I do!” We all said in unison.

We had never owned a bike before, and I was determined to be the first to ride it.

“You don’t even know how to ride a bike,” my sister Mandy stated.

“I do too!” I exclaimed, knowing she was right, but not wanting to admit defeat.

“No you don’t, stop lying,” our oldest sister Lahia said.

“I will show you!” I exclaimed, and to my disbelief my uncle gave me a chance.

We did not have a helmet, and at that time there was no law requiring youth to wear one. The bike was too tall for me to start from the ground, so I had to use the curb to push myself off. And off I went! I had seen others ride before, so I knew the mechanics. Around and around the basketball court I rode, wind flowing through my hair I felt like I was flying amongst the birds singing in the treetops. I had done it. I didn’t fall once. I rode that bike until I heard “Time to give your sister a shot.” Now going was no problem; though the pedals were a bit too far for me to reach, I would just give them a push as they came around. I did not know how to stop.

Looking over at my uncle, I could see he was getting irritated; he thought I was just ignoring him. So I did what I had to do; what any kid would do in my situation, I ran smack into the fence separating our play area from the parking lot. It wasn’t a graceful end, learning to brake would come with my next go around. Beaming I brought the bike back to my uncle and sisters. They didn’t realize what I knew, I had just taught myself to ride a bike.

The bike came with us as we moved around over the years. What was once our bike slowly became just my bike, as my sisters grew tired of her. The bike and I would go on many more adventures together, and it would eventually adopt the name of “Lady”. Through skinned up knees and ripped jeans none of my “Lady snapshots” were as memorable as that first ride. My first ride.